


It's Just Tradition Now

by Comicbooklovergreen



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/F, F/M, Mostly Fluff, Multi, Sad holiday gets better, Steve and Angie have a daughter, The Commandos crash Christmas, based on a tumblr prompt, bit of angst, late christmas fic, mentions of Howard Stark - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 06:57:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5775985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Comicbooklovergreen/pseuds/Comicbooklovergreen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stegginelli. While Steve's MIA on SHIELD business, Peggy and Angie try to salvage Christmas for their daughter. </p><p>Or, Steve's late again, but he always comes through eventually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Just Tradition Now

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this anon prompt from my Tunblr: I want Cartinelli having a surprise Christmas present in the form of Steve returning from the dead with amazing timing.
> 
> So clearly this is late. But lateness is a theme here and…yeah, no excuse, I’m just slow. I also tweaked the prompt because I couldn’t stand the heartbreak of Cartinelli thinking Steve dead for sure as opposed to missing and possibly dead. And I threw in Elizabeth, their child from Three’s Not a Crowd. Because you can’t have a proper Christmas fic without a small child. And yeah, I put in a couple Carol nods. Because Carol is an awesome friggin movie, and it distracts me from that pain of that nightmare premiere.

“It’s official. My mother thinks I’m a shit mother. Guess I’m lucky that took as long as it did.”

A sigh accompanied Angie’s last sentence, one Peggy fought against returning. “Hardly. If anything, she thinks I’m the shite mother. Among other things, for not looking after you both.”

So late in the game and her British cussing still managed to amuse Angie. Usually. This time Angie made a noise in the back of her throat and continued loading the fridge.

Peggy bit her lip to keep that sigh at bay. Christmas at the Martinelli house, typically a joyous if hectic affair, was as quietly disastrous as she’d feared. They’d talked of skipping the whole thing before deciding it might be a good distraction for Elizabeth. And that a missed holiday dinner could well send Mrs. Martinelli into cardiac arrest.

“I don’t know what the hell she thinks we’re gonna do with all this food,” Angie said, transferring more leftovers from counter to refrigerator. “This is too much, even for her. Especially with…”

Especially with Steve gone. The unspoken end to that statement hung over them, as it had for days. The kitchen was big and they were more than used to navigating around each other. Still, Peggy narrowly avoided a collision with Angie that would’ve resulted in a mess of bread and marinara sauce. She refused to equate the red of the tomato with blood. Steve’s blood, all the times she’d seen it spilled. A depressingly high number, especially when the serum was taken into account. “I imagine she wants to make up for what you missed at dinner.”

“Don’t, Peg.”

The sigh finally escaped. “You asked the question.”

“I didn’t, actually, and somehow I think the world’s greatest telephone operator knows that.”

“It’s not just you, Angie. Elizabeth watches, she takes her cues from you.” Angie’s stomach rebelled when she was nervous. Peggy had endured too many worried glances from Angie’s family tonight, bearing them as best she could while half encouraging, half begging Elizabeth to eat her food rather than try to stare it away. She’d have preferred negotiations with a terrorist of some sort. Much easier than a five-year-old with Angie’s blood in her veins.

Peggy was better at pushing past the anxiety, giving her body what it needed. She’d have wasted away two weeks after enlisting otherwise. Angie, she would fret over an audition or a callback, subsist on occasional bites of this or that, then joke that she wouldn’t have to worry so much about a director ordering her to lose weight, so really the whole strategy was golden. Steve was usually here to help Peggy explain how unamusing the joke was.

A plate Angie had been covering landed too loudly as she set it down. “Well. Thank God Lizzie’s got you to make up for my lousy mothering skills, huh?”

“You know damn well that isn’t what I meant.”

“Then don’t tell me about how I’m messin up our kid, alright?”

“That isn’t what I said.” Her voice was lower than she’d like it to be. Angie’s was raised, but not like it would be if Elizabeth weren’t a few rooms away. Steve would’ve had Christmas songs going nonstop on the record player, had Elizabeth laughing nearly loud enough to drown them out. “I worry. My sincerest apologies if that inconveniences you.”

“Yeah? I hate to tell you this, English, but you’re not the only one. And this passive-aggressive, ‘she just wants to make up for what you missed’ routine? It’s not your style, and I’m not a fan.”

Peggy ducked her head. Angie was one of the few people who could make her do that. They’d been fighting more and more often over things that mattered less and less as Christmas approached, sharp edges grating against each other in the worst ways. Peggy had to be the calm, strong Director. Angie was in rehearsals for a play which involved lots of singing and dancing and sudden outbursts of uncontrollable giddiness. And, of course, there was Elizabeth. Those cuts they were inflicting on each other, tiny but growing more numerous by the day, there was nowhere else, no one else to share the hurt to.

Didn’t make it right. God, but that didn’t make it right. Steve would be sad, disappointed. Peggy set aside a bowl of something heavy, made herself look at Angie. Angie, who was leaning on the counter with both arms, head low. When Angie met her gaze again, it was with eyes that were too dull and too bright all at once.

They apologized in nearly the same moment.

“I hate fightin with you.”

“And I you. So, let’s not.”

Angie nodded. “I’m tired of acting,” she said on a wry laugh. “There’s somethin I never thought I’d say.”

“I know,” Peggy said, just as she knew Angie wasn’t speaking about her profession. “Me too. Let’s not.”

“I’m doin a crap job of it anyway.”

“Hush,” said Peggy, crossing the small distance between them. Angie’s arms left the counter, winding tight around her neck instead. “My darling,” Peggy murmured, swaying them lightly and taking some comfort from the weight of Angie’s head on her shoulder. “Angie.” She had nothing to say, not really. She only knew that Angie liked her voice, and she liked the sound of Angie’s name on her lips. It was all she had to offer at the moment.

Angie breathed slow and deep into her neck, kissed her cheek and then her mouth before pulling away. “I’m also really damn tired of all this food,” she said, using one hand to indicate everything left to be put away.

“Leave it,” Peggy said, catching the hand Angie gestured with and bringing it to her lips. “It’ll keep for a bit.”

Angie smiled, soft and sad. “I’ll eat some later. Promise,”

Peggy kissed her forehead, their hands still interlaced. “Thank you.”

“If I eat later, can I drink now?”

“Eggnog?”

“Only if it’s the grownup kind.”

Peggy smiled herself, brief but real. She’d set Angie up for that one and Angie allowed it. They were as okay as they could be, all things considered. “Of course. I’d already made the assumption.”

She got the eggnog but the liquor was in another room, one of Howard’s many bar areas. Angie took her free hand as they walked. There was no way to get there without passing the sitting room, where Elizabeth was ignoring the bright lights of the tree and all the presents she’d unwrapped in favor of staring out the window. Peggy shut her eyes a moment, tightening her hold on Angie’s fingers. Elizabeth had worn that same look of quiet misery all day, and it was enough to make Peggy’s eyes burn as she recalled more of the wretched holiday.

_“Come on, love, time to get ready. Don’t you want to see Nonna and Grandpa and your uncles?”_

_“Yes,” said Elizabeth, without moving from her place by the window. “But I wanna see Daddy too, and he’s not here yet. And if he comes back and we’re not here, he won’t know where to find us.”_

_Swallowing the lump in her throat, Peggy sat on the floor next to Elizabeth, rubbing her daughter’s back. “Daddy knows how you love to see Nonna and Grandpa at Christmas. He’ll know where we are, darling.”_

_Elizabeth looked at Peggy for the first time, a glint of hope in her eyes. “So you think Daddy will come?”_

_Peggy swallowed again. It didn’t help. Angie came in, fiddling with her right earring and saving Peggy, as she so often did. “Hey slowpokes, what’s the hold up?”_

_Explaining what she was sure Angie already knew, Peggy silently begged for help._

_Angie wore a simple but elegant green dress. She showed little concern for the garment as she knelt down next to Peggy, reaching Elizabeth’s level. “Lizzie, I know you’re sad, but Daddy wouldn’t want that, right? He’d want us all to have the best Christmas in the whole world. Besides, think how excited your cousins will be when you tell them about this ridiculous train set.”_

_Ridiculous was the word for it, ridiculously well-made. Elizabeth had taken a liking to a toy train in a department store months ago. And Steve could use better memories of trains. If anyone could ease the sting of what happened to Barnes in those mountains, it was Elizabeth. Howard, vehemently against the idea of children of his own, still took every opportunity to spoil theirs. When Peggy mentioned in passing her intention to buy the thing, Howard looked at her as though she’d gone mad, insisting he could do better. And he had. Peggy imagined there were real railroads that took less planning. The train moved at multiple speeds through meticulously crafted stations and villages, over painted rivers. It was gorgeous and excessive and had sat untouched under the tree since this morning, when Elizabeth opened it with barely a twitch of the lips. Howard rang not long after, and Peggy did something quite rare. She lied to spare his feelings. It hadn’t worked. He’d said that given a few hours, he could rig up some kind of mechanical sleigh, “Get some reindeer from a buddy,” give Elizabeth a belated glimpse of Saint Nick. He dropped it after Peggy explained how counterproductive that would be._

_Elizabeth glanced at Howard’s unusually thoughtful gift, but nothing more. “Do you think the mailman lost my letter, Mommy?”_

_Peggy kept her shoulders from slumping, but it was difficult. “I’m sure he didn’t, love. It’s just—”_

_Elizabeth cut her off, talking faster with each word. “But even if he did, Santa’s sposed to see everything anyway, right? And hear us? And I told him to forget my other letter. I told him a bunch of times that I changed my mind about what I wanted.”_

_“We know you did, baby,” Angie said, pulling Elizabeth close to her side._

_“Then why didn’t he bring Daddy home? I told him I didn’t need anything else, I told him. And you said if I was really good, I’d get what I wanted. So if he’s not back, does that mean I wasn’t good enough? Because I really, really tried, Mama.”_

It’d only worsened from there.

The liquor was in reaching distance now, and Peggy was more relieved than she’d ever admit. They’d return in a few minutes, see about cheering Elizabeth up, but at this point Peggy was more concerned with surviving the holiday than salvaging it.

“You know what?” Angie asked after Peggy brushed off her attempts to pour the drinks.

“Hmm?” Peggy didn’t particularly like being served by Angie, not when she was in this kind of mood. It reminded her of the early days, of lies and unequal footing and the sad, concerned, suspicious looks she’d get when Jarvis came calling and she returned with a limp, or a bruise too fresh to fully hide.

“I actually thought he’d show up last night. Dawn this morning maybe. Lizzie was so sure, she almost had me convinced. Stupid.”

“It is not,” Peggy said firmly. She couldn’t stand another minute of Angie putting herself down. “Steve does love his entrances.” She was thinking of him returning to camp after they’d presumed him dead. The first time. A dead man in red and blue, leading a company of dead men.

Peggy tried, really tried, to focus on Angie. Angie who was here right now, standing next to her, raising the grownup eggnog Peggy had fixed for her. “Cheers.”

Angie’s voice was anything but cheerful. Peggy clinked their glasses together. “Indeed. Happy Christmas.”

“Yup. Many happy returns.”

It was possibly the most depressing Christmas toast in history. So depressing that they chuckled. Angie knocked back the drink with impressive speed. Peggy followed suit. Angie requested another and Peggy set about the task. What else was she to do?

The question plagued her, kept her from sleeping more than two hours at a stretch. There was only so much she could manage from here, with the limited knowledge she had on what happened to Steve. Steve and the Commandos, who’d saved her skin nearly as often as she’d saved theirs. She wanted to go after them herself. She wasn’t supposed to do things like that anymore, not when there was SHIELD to think about. She did not care. SHIELD could go screw itself. She’d have followed Steve and the rest of those boys long ago if SHIELD were the only thing at stake.

_“Are you gonna get them back, Mommy? Daddy and Uncle Dugan said you had to do stuff like that all the time. You could get them back, I know you could.”_

Elizabeth’s plea to her this morning, added to the list of things that would keep her up at night. If she had intel, even the barest scrap of good intel, she’d go, international peacekeeping organization be damned. She’d go without the intel, actually, but for Angie and Elizabeth. Angie could handle raising their daughter if Peggy got herself killed, went against the rule on having she and Steve “working” at the same time. That Angie could do this didn’t mean she should.

“Christ,” Peggy muttered, spilling a bit as she poured. Her hands were shaking.

“Here. Let the expert do it.”

Angie made the drink, then topped off Peggy’s. “That was not what it sounded like by the way,” Peggy said, taking a long swallow. Angie put in too much liquor. The woman was a godsend. “A birthday salutation for the man of the hour,” she added, raising her glass skyward.

“’Course it was, English. I’d already made the assumption.” Angie mirrored her, touched their glasses again, then drank. Peggy followed.

They stood together, drinking in the too-quiet house. Steve loved Christmas, made it a huge affair every year, as though he could make up for the ones he’d missed. Peggy remembered those vividly, especially the first, the one before she met Angie. The worst of them, by far. She’d gotten very drunk with Howard, but not drunk enough to burn away thoughts of what might’ve been with Steve. If he didn’t come back this time (her nails scraped hard against the glass to keep hold), it would be so much worse than before. Before was all fantasies, cobbled together from scattered moments of peace. And Angie, Peggy couldn’t have imagined Angie, not on her very best day. Now she knew. Knew what the three of them could be together, what they’d created in Elizabeth, everything that would be tarnished if she lost Steve a second time.

Angie’s heels on the hardwood kept Peggy from being completely submerged in those thoughts. She breathed low and shaky as Angie circled around, holding her from behind. Carefully, Angie slid the glass from her hands, set it on the bar and covered Peggy’s fingers with her own. “Don’t, Peg.”

The same words she’d used in the kitchen, the tone something else entirely. Angie’s fingers were pleasantly warm after the chill of the glass. “Hmm?”

“Don’t go to that place in your head. I hate that place, always did.”

“Well. I can’t say I’m particularly fond of it either.”

“This ain’t like last time, okay? He’s not alone, and those apes are the best of the best, right?”

Steve wasn’t, and they were. They’d been the best of the best when Junior died in front of her. When Barnes died and took a piece of Steve with him.

“You’re not alone either, you know. You never are.”

A light spasm rolled through Peggy’s body. She didn’t cry, and was glad Angie’s eyes weren’t there. They’d both cry if they had to look at each other, she thought, and what if Elizabeth noticed? “I don’t know what to do, Angie.”

Angie kissed the back of her neck, quick and soft. “That’s okay, English. You’re not doin anything tonight. Just tough it out a couple more hours ‘til we can get Lizzie in bed. Worst part’s over, right? We’ll handle the rest in the morning.”

The bit about the worst being over could very well be a lie, but there was no point in stating the obvious. “Thank you, love. I—”

“MOMMY! MAMA! MAMA! COME IN HERE!”

It wasn’t a fearful cry. Peggy still fumbled for a gun that wasn’t there. Then she ran. Angie was closer, started out half a step in front of her until Peggy shoved her back. Not a fearful cry, but when she wasn’t being kept awake by other things, Peggy still had the occasional nightmare about Colleen, alive and then not in an instant, killed in the supposed safety of their apartment.

Elizabeth was at the front door, pulling at a handle that was heavy for her on the best of days and harder to manage when half frozen with cold. There was pounding involved, loud and persistent. And then there was yelling, muffled by the strong oak doors and the wind outside.

“Hey in there! Open up will ya? Our fearless leader lost his house key somewhere in Belgium!”

“Shut up, Falsworth, Angie ain’t supposed to know where we were!”

“Shut up yourself, mate. You think Angie’s not gonna have the whole story by morning, if she’s slow about it? Anyway, I’m freezin my bloody arse off out here, and I’d like—”

“Don’t swear where my kid can hear you.”

“I wouldn’t have to, would I, if you kept better track of your things. And it doesn’t look like anyone’s hearing much of anything, since I’m still standing out here freezin my bloody arse off.”

Elizabeth finally managed to yank open the door. Steve was on the threshold with Falsworth and Happy Sam next to him. It was Sam who’d shown such concern for Angie’s security clearance. Gabe, Pinky, Morita and Dernier were huddled close behind them. Peggy took this in for half a second, then her eyes locked on Steve again. Steve, who’d eagerly received a tackle from Elizabeth and was kissing her hair, holding her tight as he dared.

“Daddydaddydaddydaddy, you came back!”

“Hey, baby! Shhh, it’s okay. Of course I did.”

“Of course he did,” Falsworth agreed. “And the very happiest of Christmases to you, Elizabeth. You uh, you didn’t hear me say that filthy word earlier, all right?”

Elizabeth glanced up from where she’d burrowed herself into Steve’s shoulder. “Did too, Uncle James, I heard it twice.”

Angie snorted in Peggy’s ear. and it got Steve’s attention. Standing with Elizabeth in his arms, he gazed at them, silent. He smiled, then seemed like he might cry. His jaw worked a few times as though the words were caught. Then, quiet and sheepish he said, “Merry Christmas.”

“Bloody fool,” Peggy said under her breath, crossing to him with Angie on her heels. Peggy kissed him hard, hugged him harder, Elizabeth trapped between them. “You’re late.”

“I know. I’m sorry, Peg. Kind of a tradition by now, huh?”

“One I’d advise you to break as soon as possible, Captain.”

“Yes ma’am, Director Carter.”

Morita asked if they’d missed dinner. Angie told him yes and no, told him and the rest to get their wet snow things off, they were tracking all over her floor. Then she kissed Steve and hugged him, and stared Morita down until he coaxed a reluctant Elizabeth away, requesting proper greetings for all of her uncles.

“Bastard,” Angie said once their daughter couldn’t hear. “You’re a complete bastard.” She hugged him again as she said this, her nails clawing at the back of his neck. There would be marks. Fast healing ones, but still marks.

“You’re right, I’m so sorry.”

“Not as sorry as you’re gonna be. I hate you, you know.”

“I know. I love you. All of you, so much. I missed you so much, Ang.”

“I love you. And you have no idea how much of a bastard you are.”

Angie’s voice cracked at the end, in a way that only happened under certain circumstances Even without the tell, Peggy would’ve known that the anger was mostly on her behalf, hers and Elizabeth’s. Peggy rubbed her back, spoke softly. “Angie…”

Angie gave her a look, reminded her that she’d threatened to stick a man with a fork for copping a feel, and that was before they were even a thing. Angie declared that he couldn’t keep doing this to them, and that it was Christmas, and she’d be angry in her own damn house on Christmas if she felt like it. Then she grazed her thumb over a small cut on his forehead, checking it over.

Someone, Pinkerton maybe, she wasn’t paying complete attention, said that with all the smooching going around, she and Angie should kiss each other, make things fair.

“Sod off,” Peggy said to whoever it was. Then, to Elizabeth, “You didn’t hear that, sweetheart.”

Elizabeth frowned, wriggling in the bear hug she was receiving from Gabe. “Did too, Mommy.” The frown turned to a laugh as Gabe tickled her some, then returned. “Hey, where’s Uncle Dugan?”

Peggy froze. She hadn’t noticed. The elation over Steve and the others, she hadn’t bloody noticed. Her eyes found Angie, and a shared panic. She opened her mouth, but Dernier was faster, spitting out a slew of rapid-fire syllables that Peggy would be able to hear if her heart weren’t so loud in her ears.

Angie started to demand a translation. Gabe cut them both off, gave Elizabeth a quick, reassuring squeeze, and yelled for Dugan to get his slow, sorry behind in here.

There was mumbling and shuffling and Dugan came in from the next room, He had a breadstick in one hand, a plate of cold chicken in the other. The hairs of his moustache looked frozen in place. What there were of them, anyway. Most were gone, leaving only wisps behind, odd patches that were quite pathetic to behold. Balanced on Gabe’s knee, Elizabeth’s eyes grew wide. She said his name slowly, as though testing whether it belonged to the same person.

“Go easy on him, Lizzie Girl,” Gabe advised, barely restraining a laugh. “He’s still mourning.” To Peggy, “We had a…a casualty, I guess.” His shoulders shook with chuckles.

Dugan assured everyone that once their good Lord and savior had had his day, he was going to punch Jones’s face in. He’d been about to do that on their doorstep, fed up with all the mockery he’d received from the “insensitive, loudmouth idiots” he called friends. He then decided it would be rude to get Gabe’s blood all over their yard, and elected to find another way in before losing his temper. He did not, it seemed, think it rude to break into their home while their daughter shrieked to high heaven. Morita explained that Dugan had been in a mood ever since being parted from most of his facial hair, and it was best to ignore him.

Peggy had questions, many, that couldn’t be asked now. She’d debrief them in the morning. Steve’s assurance that they’d done what needed doing, and the lack of visibly serious wounds on anyone, it was enough. Until they began divesting layers and layers of winter gear to reveal a series of alarmingly garish holiday sweaters. Steve’s boasted a somewhat hypnotizing pattern of Christmas trees. The snowman on Happy Sam’s shirt was at least two sizes too small.

“Improvised escape plan,” Steve muttered, pulling fitfully at the sweater. “We needed disguises. Long story, tell you during debrief.”

“Disguises,” Angie repeated. “Tryin to keep a low profile, were you? Stars and stripes weren’t subtle enough?” She wasn’t whispering. Elizabeth was giggling far too loudly to overhear anything. Peggy had vague concerns that they’d be dealing with their first accident in several years if things didn’t settle.

They settled. Marginally. After the brief separation from Steve so Angie could give him a proper talking to, Elizabeth stayed glued to her father’s side. She addressed her uncles, grinning and speaking too quickly, but she wouldn’t leave Steve, even when he and the others retreated to get rid of the offending garments Peggy gave her that without question, contenting herself with less contact than she would’ve liked. Angie faced a similar struggle, but they dealt with it. There would be time later, and what was a bit more waiting when everyone was here and whole and in Peggy’s sight?

The men tore into the kitchen, inhaling the feast of leftovers. Angie said she would have their heads for the mess they were making, but she was leaning into Steve when she said it, finally eating. Elizabeth followed suit, spilling something chocolate and sticky onto her favorite top. Pinkerton went on a long and detailed diatribe regarding the sinister nature of wool sweaters.

The house was loud. Louder than a roomful of Martinellis, which was saying something. Fires were stoked. They huddled together, brought in extra chairs. Steve wanted to see Elizabeth’s Christmas presents, all purchased after he went off. Elizabeth frowned in a way that was so like Angie, though Angie claimed not to see the resemblance. That’s when it came up, what Elizabeth wanted for Christmas, and why she’d gotten her wish a bit late.

She was more curious than upset. Peggy thought there was very little that could truly upset her at the moment. Steve and the boys, they were different. Because Elizabeth very innocently, very matter-of-factly explained how she’d thought herself bad when Daddy wasn’t there to great her in the morning, how she thought she’d done wrong, despite fervent contradictions from Peggy and Angie.

Steve went very pale. Elizabeth was in his lap, Angie and Peggy on either side. Angie squeezed his hand. Peggy opened her mouth to speak, to reassure. Dugan, of all people, beat her to it.

As Peggy watched in utter fascination, Dugan explained how of course Santa knew her wish and of course she wasn’t bad, because that was just ridiculousness. And they would’ve gotten here earlier, were en route via the famous sleigh itself, having hitched a ride with Saint Nick. It was all fine until Santa, displaying a severe lapse in judgment, allowed Steve to take control of the sleigh for a bit.

“You know what kinda pilot your dad is, right kid?”

Elizabeth nodded solemnly. Steve shot Dugan a glare, which he cheerfully ignored. Peggy had gotten another drink, which she tried not to choke on. Angie stood, smacked her hard on the back, and laughed openly. Steve continued to sulk. Elizabeth was too caught up in the story to notice.

Dugan got as far as Steve crashing them into the side of a mountain. It was fortunate that both Santa and the Commandos had been carrying parachutes at the time. When Dugan floundered with the plot, Gabe saved him, adding a bit about mountain trolls hell bent on looting Santa Claus and destroying Christmas. It went on that way, a strange, beautiful mess with contributions from each of the men. Besides the trolls, there were elves with good intentions (and guns) who’d shown up to aid them. There were other elves who were not so good, as they’d been spying for the enemy, sabotaging Christmas the whole time. Pinkerton said they probably tampered with Santa’s vehicle, so it wasn’t entirely Daddy’s fault that they’d arrived late. Steve seemed to appreciate this.

There were explosions. There was a tornado made of snow. There were reindeer who used their antlers as defense weapons and flew like dive bombers. It was utter insanity, but Peggy found herself riveted nonetheless. Several times she had to squeeze Angie’s hand or speak into her ear, keep her from taking up the thread whenever someone ran low on ideas. They were, after all, not meant to know any of this. Angie struggled with the limitation. She did so enjoy a good story, and almost never read to Elizabeth before bed, preferring to spin her own tales.

Even as she listened to the story unfold, watched Elizabeth gape and shake her head in all the right places, Peggy knew it would cause hell tomorrow. She was too caught up to bother now, but after a night of turning things over in her head, Elizabeth would arrive at the breakfast table with endless follow-up questions on how this certain thing had worked, or why that part of the narrative didn’t add up. She didn’t envy Steve and the rest having to defend this loving, well-intentioned wreck of an explanation. It would be entertaining, to say the least. Far more so than the true account of what went on, she was sure, even counting the business with Dugan’s poor moustache and those hideous sweaters.

She was mulling this over when Morita announced that those very same sweaters had been rendered temporarily bulletproof by a kindly snow wizard. Smirking, she reached out to push a lock of hair away from Elizabeth’s eyes (Steve’s shade most of the time, though they changed to Angie’s color of blue in a certain light) and enjoyed the rest of the story.

***

After his heroic foray into fiction came to a muddled but spectacular end, Dugan had appointed Elizabeth as his bodyguard. The other Commandos kept threatening to shave off the sad remains of his moustache. Peggy agreed with this plan, better to put the thing out of it’s misery, but Dugan refused. Adamantly. Elizabeth took to her role as protector with much enthusiasm, but it was late and excitement had kept her up too late the previous night. She was sleeping on Steve’s chest, her tiny frame rising and falling in an even pattern that never ceased to calm Peggy.

She could hear Dugan’s snoring quite clearly, despite the heavy floors between them. She’d made it clear to the others that if they attempted to remove the moustache while Dugan slept (they threatened it twice within her hearing) and if things went wrong and there was a racket and Elizabeth woke up, this would be their last Christmas. So far so good.

The guest bedrooms were all taken over. Peggy and the three people she loved more than life stayed downstairs, amidst a messy pile of pillows and blankets, The fire burned low, but between it’s flames and their shared body heat, warmth wasn’t an issue.

Peggy was next to Steve and their child, Angie on his other side. “Aren’t you just the luckiest guy in town,” Angie said, quiet enough that Elizabeth wouldn’t hear. “Surrounded by all these beautiful ladies.”

“Luckiest guy on Earth,” Steve corrected, shifting a bit so he could kiss Angie’s hair.

Peggy shook her head at the smooth talk, knowing it was so much more than that. She traced his arm with her fingertips. “That was quite the Christmas story earlier.”

“Seriously,” said Angie. “Who knew Santa was so handy with a Tommy Gun?”

“Don’t make me laugh right now,” said Steve. The effort to keep from chuckling was visible. Elizabeth slumbered on, oblivious to the sudden movement of Steve’s chest.

“Gabriel thinks there’s money to be made there,” Peggy said. “That we should turn the whole thing into a cartoon of some sort. ‘Christmas with Cap and the Courageous Commandos,’ I think he said.”

Angie grinned. “I’d watch it. Needs a rewrite though. ‘Cap, the Courageous Commandos, and the Even More Courageous Betty Carver.’ Can’t have a cartoon bloodbath without Betty Carver.”

Were Elizabeth not between them, Peggy would’ve climbed over Steve to get retribution on Angie. “You talk too much, my love, and you will not spoil a perfectly fine holiday by bringing that name into it.” Peggy tried to sound threatening. Angie laughed at her. They were quiet a moment.

“Wasn’t a perfectly good holiday though, was it?” Steve said, levity suddenly gone.

Peggy sighed, watching him tighten his hold on Elizabeth. “It became one.”

“How was she?” Steve asked as if Peggy hadn’t spoken.

“She missed you,” Angie said. “She misses both of you when you’re off doin your thing, no gettin around it. But you know how she is, we got through it. She had it in her head that you’d be here today, and it helped.”

“I wasn’t here though. Not soon enough. I hate doing that to her, to both of you.”

Peggy touched his cheek, made him look at her. “Not a time to turn maudlin, Rogers. We’ve had more than enough of that recently.”

“Hear, hear.” Angie pressed closer to Steve, pinching his shoulder then kissing the spot. “We can be maudlin once New Year’s passes and those apes haven’t cleared out. We all know they ain’t clearin out any time soon.”

Steve smiled. Peggy did the same. Then she pushed the advantage. “Darling. Speaking as someone who’s spent far too long waiting around for you. When Elizabeth thinks of this day, it won’t be your admittedly incessant tardiness she remembers. She’ll remember what matters. That you came back.”

“And that you did it after fighting a band of evil, sword carrying elves. Let’s be honest, she’ll probably remember that too.”

Peggy bit her lip to keep from laughing too loudly. Angie sat up on an elbow to wink, smug with her own cleverness. Steve tried again to hold back a chuckle, less successful this time. Elizabeth stirred in his hold, regarding them through heavy eyes.

“Daddy? Mama?”

“Hey baby doll,” Angie murmured, kissing Elizabeth’s cheek. “Sorry we woke you. Go back to sleep.”

Elizabeth looked up at Steve. “Daddy, you’re here.”

“Yeah, honey, I am.”

“You won’t leave again?”

“Nope. Couldn’t move if I wanted to. You got so big, you’re crushing me.”

Elizabeth smiled drowsily, but didn’t let up. “You promise you won’t leave?”

“Promise, baby. You and me still gotta get a good look at that train set, remember?”

Elizabeth nodded, but seemed restless under her blankets. She wouldn’t look away from Steve.

Peggy shifted, Elizabeth closer without breaking her grip on Steve. “Hush, angel. Everything’s alright. I’m here and Mama’s here, and Daddy’s here now too. Close your eyes.”

“Okay, Mommy. Uncle Dugan said we could have a snowball fight tomorrow. You have to help me win. You’re the best thrower.”

Peggy patiently ignored Angie’s teasing noise of protest. “Of course, darling. Sleep now.”

Elizabeth did. Angie rubbed her back and eyed Peggy, lips barely moving as she mouthed, “Softie, English.”

Peggy smirked. Angie had called her that or variations of it at least once a week since Elizabeth was born. “Hush, Angel,” she replied, just as quiet.

Angie smiled and sank further into the blankets. Peggy stayed awake as long as she could, listening to the faint crackle of the fire, the breath of her loved ones. Then she slept, properly and happily, for the first time in much too long.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on Tumblr. Hit me up with prompts, or just stop in to say hi.
> 
> http://cblgblog.tumblr.com/


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